


Mirror Image

by nowherenew



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dialogue, Gen, Intrigue, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulation Through Not Really Manipulating Anything, Mind Games, Revelations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:32:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowherenew/pseuds/nowherenew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter wants to peel Stiles open and crawl inside his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror Image

Stiles thinks it’s the danger that really draws him to Peter. Peter has more blood on his hands than anyone else in their little haphazard “pack.” Scott and Derek have both taken lives, one way or another—to be honest, everyone in the pack can probably be blamed for plenty of deaths, if you look closely—but there isn’t anyone like Peter. Well, there are plenty of people involved in Stiles’ life who are violent and dangerous, but all of them are in the groups of people that want to direct their violence and danger at Stiles and his friends. The high likelihood of severe (and probably fatal) bodily harm is kind of a big turnoff for Stiles.

The funny thing is, the five murders Peter committed were unnecessary. Peter is driven by pragmatism above all else, and every one of those five people were killed for the sake of revenge. Stiles knows it was uncharacteristic, because one of the few tidbits of information he’s figured out about Peter’s inner workings is that Peter has three categories he uses to sort every person in the world: threat, asset, and irrelevant. Peter would not hesitate to kill someone who, though currently innocent, could pose a threat in the future. He would also defend someone useful (like Stiles, for instance) from coming under any serious harm that may compromise that person’s value. Everyone else is of no concern; Peter ignores them. The people involved in the arson weren’t a potential threat to Peter, because the fire was in the past, but Peter still killed them. They don’t fit as threats, but Peter still eliminated them. Stiles’ working theory is that Peter acted on desire, instead of necessity. Peter _wanted_ to kill them, even though he didn’t have to do that to carry on with his life.

But Peter doesn’t want to kill Stiles. He’s not a homicidal maniac who just wants to kill people, and for some reason, that disappoints Stiles as much as it comforts him. Peter took five lives in cold blood, but he doesn’t want to kill Stiles. Stiles is the token human, the not-quite-negligible burden, but Peter is intrigued by him. He couldn’t make it any more obvious, in all honesty. He’s always sharply tuned to Stiles’ frequency, listening even when no one else is.

“Your mind is fascinating,” he says, staring at Stiles from his lazy sprawl on the couch. “I think peeling you open and crawling inside that head of yours would be an interesting venture.”

And Stiles wants him to. Stiles is so busy processing those words, cutting them apart and trying to find out exactly what they mean and what they imply, that his handy-dandy deflecting remark reflex doesn’t immediately activate. He just stands there, caught off-guard, for the full ten seconds that he should have used to say something sarcastic.

“You think so, too?” Peter’s feet slide—no, _slither_ —from the far end of the sofa to the floor. He almost seems to melt instead of really move, because it’s so slow, but Stiles can barely recount what happened in the moments between Peter lying down and Peter sitting up. The grin that spreads across Peter’s lips looks alarmingly like the sinister smirk of Scar from the Lion King.

Stiles raises his eyebrows, snapping out of his inner thoughts in favor of rebuilding the wall that Peter may or may not have just demolished in ten seconds flat. “If you knew everything about me, you’d probably kill me afterwards. I’d lose my mystique.”

Peter tilts his head and leans forward, propping his elbow on his thigh to rest chin on his knuckles. He frowns just slightly, and purses his lips. “If you truly think that someone can finish learning about another person, I’ve been wrong about you. There’s no end to people. When you look at yourself in the mirror, Stiles, what do you see?”

A little thrown, Stiles narrows his eyes. “I see myself?”

“Wrong. You see yourself as you were one-billionth of a second ago. Minds never stop. You will always be different than you were five minutes ago.” Peter raises an eyebrow and runs his fingers over his lips, then settles back against the couch, spreading his legs lazily. “I’m not wrong about you, by the way,” he adds, smoothing out the wrinkles in his sleeves. “When it comes to people, I don’t make mistakes.”

“Never? That’s pretty freakin’ unlikely, you know. Everyone can be wrong about people.” Stiles folds his arms over his chest, scowling.

Peter rolls his eyes. “Don’t be obtuse simply for the sake of a rebuttal, Stiles, especially since you know exactly why I’m always right when evaluating people. When most people try to figure others out, they usually assign blanket statements. They figure out one aspect and they call it a done deal. That’s the very reason they’re wrong, Stiles. They think people are simple. I’m not so vapid as to assume one ambition, one behavior, or one trait is the full scope of a person.” He shifts, putting his hands in his pockets, but he never averts his eyes from Stiles’ face. “I’m never wrong because I go piece by piece.”

Now it’s Stiles’ turn to roll his eyes, and he scoffs even while sinking into the armchair beside the couch. “Sure, whatever, fair enough.” He can almost feel Peter’s gaze pressing into his skin like fingers, with nails trailing down his cheek and jaw until they prod into his neck. He glances over, frowning in suspicion, and snaps, “You’re a creep.”

“You’re a self-conscious teenager who walls himself off from his closest friends and even his own father so he can conceal the way he wallows in his own guilt,” Peter responds with a voice as even as ever.

“Ooh, Dr. Phil, you’re spot-on. Would you like a gold star?” Stiles hates hearing it pointed out, but knowing the massive amount of creeping Peter must have put in makes him feel good.

“I neither expect nor desire anything in reward for seeing what’s plainly laid before me.” Peter scoffs as though offended and hurt, and rubs his scruff while another Scar smile oozes through.

“You never want anything,” Stiles retorts, “at least, not openly. That’s why Derek mistrusts you. Well, that’s part of it. I’m sure you bisecting his sister and murdering a half-dozen people plays into that, but the hidden motives aren’t fun for anyone except you.”

Tilting his head from side to side thoughtfully, Peter nods. “That sounds about right,” he declares, pointing at Stiles vaguely while leaning over to grab his book from the coffee table. “You’re right. Smart boy. Derek can think what he likes, but I like to see you squirm.”

“We don’t like to squirm, you ass.” Stiles cranes his neck to look at the title of the book, but it’s just a plain leather cover, no title or author on the front or the spine.

Quickly, Peter turns to look at Stiles again. “‘We’? I meant you, Stiles. Just you.”

“Great, the sociopath who is also a veteran murderer has taken a special interest in me.” Stiles sinks lower into the chair and scratches at his scalp, grumbling all the while.

Peter just smiles knowingly, shakes his head, and stands from the couch. “You can say whatever you like, Stiles, but don’t think your acting skills are good enough to prevent me from noticing the way your taste for the macabre guides you to me.”

For the second time in ten minutes, Stiles is speechless. He just looks at Peter, his mouth half-open, and can’t figure out a single thing to say before the conversation closes up and the silence becomes final. He doesn’t move, not even when Peter drags his fingers up Stiles’ arm and over his shoulder while he brushes past him.

What does push him from muteness to speech is the feeling of Peter’s claws leaving shallow scratches in his skin, and instead of saying the calculatedly snarky jibe he’d planned out, a groan comes up from the very core of his body and leaves his mouth. Peter hums triumphantly and disappears before Stiles can whirl around to confront him.

Stiles glares at the doorway for a moment, but when he touches his ripped shirt and pulls it to the side to look at the blood beading on the shallow scratches, he realizes several things at once: he gets immensely and profoundly aroused when Peter touches him; he definitely won’t refuse any future opportunity to get sexually involved with Peter; and he wasn’t even manipulated by Peter here—Peter was just making a point. The ball is in Stiles’ court, and Peter is immune to any accusations of foul play because he was being completely fair.

Peter keeps surprising Stiles. Between him being fair, having (sort of) human desires, and knowing how long it takes for an image to travel to a reflective surface and return to the human eye, it’s almost like Stiles wasn’t looking very hard at all at the man’s behavior. With a sudden shock, Stiles then realizes Peter is using himself as an example to prove his point that people have no end.

Peter knew that Stiles would come to understand all of this as soon as he wasn’t being distracted by that sexy claw thing. Peter let Stiles realize it all in private, made sure Stiles wouldn’t be able to examine everything properly unless he had some time and space all to himself to process everything. Peter knows his mind, knows the way he works. And it dawns on Stiles that figuring all this out means he knows (or at least is starting to know) Peter’s mind.

“Shit,” he snarls, sprawling even more bonelessly into the armchair. “He’s going to want to play me in chess.”


End file.
